Fill Me In With Empty Promises
by ThisIsAwesomeness
Summary: She knows it is wrong. It is so, so wrong. But she can't help herself.


**A/N: HI PEOPLE. Look who's back. Just a short one shot in between my busy schedule.**

 **This is Rated T, although the theme is teetering quite towards M. Nothing explicit.**

 **And anyone who wants to beta for me? I badly needed one.**

* * *

She knows it is wrong.

It is so, so wrong. But she can't help herself.

She watches him - his movements graceful and careful - as he reaches for the car door and opens it for his wife.

His wife. Oh poor Rachel, she will never know. Perhaps, it is for the better. What his wife doesn't know won't hurt her.

They both enter the restaurant and walk towards the table she's sitting. She flashes a smile - all white teeth glinting like diamonds against the lights, and yes, she's a diamond; beautiful, precious and hard - and they smile back.

"Annabeth," he greets. And she can't help but remember his hoarse, breathless voice on her ear, whispering that name over and over like a prayer. She shivers.

"Percy," Annabeth says and looks over to his wife, "Rachel."

They eat and talk like friends reuniting all over again. Friends - what a mundane and naive word.

"Excuse me, I'll just go to the restroom," Rachel says and stands up, leaving the table for the two of them alone. Alone. Bad move.

Annabeth catches his eyes - those sea green eyes shining with a knowing glint and lust lingering at the edges and something more -and they seem to be talking to her.

"Later."

* * *

Annabeth doesn't know how she ended up in this position - her back against the table and Percy's body pressed on her own. She thinks it's a strange metaphor, how she is trapped in this uncomfortable place yet she can't bring herself to escape. She's far too gone in his arms now, that when she is pushed farther to the edge of the table, she doesn't feel any bruises and instead, she feels an uncanny euphoric bliss. Annabeth, even without her logical mind thinking, knows that this is wrong. This is awfully and morbidly wrong, a carnal sin that pleasures and burns her soul. What a sin, she thinks yet she tastes salvation when he hungrily presses his burning lips to her own.

She pulls back, merely because because she can't breathe anymore. And when Annabeth inhales, she breathes him - his scent, his air, his heart -and grows closer to combustion.

"Annabeth," he whispers with so much raw emotion, and she briefly wonders if it's the only name that passed through his lips like that.

"Yeah?"

A low growl rumbles in the back of his throat and he mutters something more but the words are lost midst the loud pounding of her heart resounding in her ears.

She clutches his arms tighter than she ever did before and she can only hope that her grasp can reach his heart enough to not fall apart in his arms.

* * *

She wakes up in the middle of the night, her eyes drinking in the sight of the man lying beside her. The light pouring in from the moon casts glowing highlights on his face: on his long black lids brushing lightly on his cheekbones, his straight sculpted nose and his sharp, angular jaw. Annabeth knows he's awake - she can feel his thumb lazily drawing circles on the small of her back - but she chooses to keep quiet too. This perfectly serene mood is what she longs in these nights, when they can momentarily forget the consequences of their actions, when they can be Percy and Annabeth again, best friends who are too stubborn to admit their feelings for each other. But time had passed and they caught themselves in this undesirable junction - and oh how she wishes she could just say those three words before, even now.

The words claw in her throat, but she says them nonetheless, "When are you going?"

He moves and stares in her eyes - his sea green ones glinting in the dark. "Do you want me to?"

No, no, no! "She might suspect a thing."

"Okay," he breathes, and he looks like he wants to argue but eventually gives up, "okay."

He starts moving - and by every passing second she feels herself dying slowly. Annabeth keeps quiet though. After all, she's the one who chose this predicament. She waits until he's done and closes her eyes when she feels him lean forward. That moment is too fragile, too beautiful to be seen even with her naked eyes, so she cherishes the feeling blindly. He leaves a lingering kiss on her lips and she waits, waits until she feels him whisper, "I love you."

The night is silent, as if waiting for her answer. She is too stunned though, as always, even though she heard him mumble those words on her skin over and over.

"I love you too," she whispers back, but he's already out of her door, and Annabeth can only hope that her words will be carried by the silent breeze towards his ears.

* * *

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